The Prince and the Pea Soup
by fermataoso
Summary: "Fine, but you get to explain to Galinda that you died through no fault of mine. I tried."


Fiyero rubbed a hand over his sore eyes, fighting a moan. Damn Gillikin and the Murples that every child here suffered through by age five. Having grown up in the deserts of the Vinkus, Fiyero was not so lucky. His throat flamed, and he groped blindly for the glass of water he'd left on his nightstand. Empty.

He levered himself halfway out of bed, only to slide back in a dizzy, weary heap. His head pounded from the failed attempt so fiercely he heard it resounding in the room.

"Fiyero, open the door."

Oh, so it had been knocking after all. He willed himself to answer the door, but nothing happened.

"Fine, but you get to explain to Galinda that you died through no fault of mine. I tried."

He imagined the face Elphaba must've been making. A wan smile trudged across his face. "Coming," he croaked, though she couldn't have heard through the heavy door.

This time he succeeded in a vertigo-laden stumble across the room. It took three tries to unlock the door. She took in the sight of him slumped pitifully against the doorjamb, and stuck out a carton of green glob. "You look terrible."

"So does that," he rasped in a half-whisper.

He wrinkled his nose as the thick goop blobbed to the left. Luckily he'd finished the nausea stage, or that would have set it off for sure. "Pea soup," she offered. "The antioxidants in it are good for Murples. My old Nanny used to swear by it."

"If you say so."

"Galinda demanded I take care of you, since she couldn't get out of her Sorcery final."

He lifted an eyebrow. Not that he particularly wanted Galinda here, pestering him as an overbearing nursemaid, but he'd have expected her to play the role with all the drama her little heart could muster. At the very least enough to skip a final.

Elphaba took in his expression and clarified. "No, really. She accidentally transfigured herself into half-marble, and Morrible hasn't been able to undo it yet."

"Ah," he managed, though his throat punished him for it. "Thanks."

He held a hand out for the soup, and tipped over. Elphaba caught his arm and propped him back against the jamb. "Not faking, then. I could see you trying to wriggle out of exams, but not the risk of that face with such commitment. Though, then again…"

He shut his eyes, the room spinning, and she cut off her banter.

"Alright, back to bed, sicky." Without complaint he fumbled toward his bed. She caught his arm, and he drooped heavily against her, so much so that they almost went down. She staggered, but held him. "Oz, you're heavy. At least Galinda's light."

"You've…her…often," he mumbled, losing the thread in his attempts to stay upright, but Elphaba filled in the gaps.

"Often enough. Your girlfriend's not too graceful when she's intoxicated."

He nodded in agreement until his head lolled to a stop against her shoulder. She plopped him on the bed. Curled in a ball, he waved a grateful farewell from the sanctuary of his sheets.

She hesitated. He heard rather than saw her walk toward the door, and the soft thunk of her shuffling the soup and whatever else around. He peeked up at her, confused.

"You look awful." He frowned. They'd already established this. No need to keep assaulting his wounded ego. "Galinda would never let me hear the end of it, and she's more annoyingly high-pitched than you are."

That had to be the first time she'd ever acknowledged that _anything_ was more annoying than he was, even if she did qualify it.

"Soup now or later?"

He winced, and she set the carton on his desk.

"Later it is." Then she curled up in his desk chair with his long-abandoned copy of the History text. He braced for her to start pestering or mothering him, but she simply read. After a minute or so, she caught his quizzical stare.

"Go to sleep, and for Oz's sake, try not to die. Galinda or not, I'm not giving you mouth-to-mouth."

He grinned, albeit weakly, and shut his eyes. The room fell silent except for the steady whisper of turned pages. He found it comforting, far more than he'd have thought, and within minutes, he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

He woke later, how much he couldn't say, but his throat stung and his muscles burned. He fought his way free from his tangled sheets. The cool air did little to ease the sweltering ache that boiled under his skin. He tugged off his shirt, not bothering to open his eyes, until he felt a soft hand on his shoulder.

"Okay, let's stop there before you strip down completely and scar me for life."

His eyes flew open to see Elphaba still there. She held a glass, and he reached for it like a dying man in the desert.

She helped him sit as he gulped it all at once. His throat blazed as the invasion, but it helped his parched mouth some. When she refilled the glass, he drank it half-empty again before she set it on his nightstand. He mouthed his thanks.

"You know, I kind of like you this way. Quiet."

He narrowed his eyes in answer, but it was halfhearted. In reality, he felt too overwhelmed with gratitude at her to feel anything else.

She picked up the carton. The green goop didn't look any more appetizing now than before. She popped off the lid and dipped in a spoon. He grimaced. "No more of that out of you. Just try it." He stared at the blob and back at her. "Ugh, you would be the one person that can sass with your eyes."

He leveled a look.

"Alright," she acknowledged with a small chuckle, "maybe not the only one. Eat your soup."

He lifted a spoonful and sniffed at it, but he couldn't notice any particular smell. Up close he could see the remains of the peas that had given their lives for his goop. He'd never been a big fan of peas. Mushy and tasteless and far too close to a caterpillar.

"Enough stalling. Eat the damn soup already." He blinked at her in surprise, and she huffed a sigh. "Honestly. Just because it's green?"

He gave her a pointed stare.

"Color prejudiced." But her straight face cracked into a mischievous smile, which he couldn't help but return.

He took a deep breath and eased the spoonful of soup in his mouth. It was cold, unlike most soup, but not as bad as he'd thought. Creamy, if a little bland. Still, better than the old tennis shoes taste he'd expected.

It oozed down his throat, cooling the fire there, and for the first time all day, it didn't hurt. A twinge of pain stung as he swallowed the next mouthful, but then the same beautiful cooling. He let out a soft sigh of relief.

Elphaba swallowed her own smile, pleased even if she didn't want to show it.

He finished the soup and mouthed another thanks. They were starting to stack up. He would do something nice for her once he felt better - take her to dinner or something. Though knowing her, she'd call that punishment.

She was an odd girl: outwardly confident, but so guarded as to be introverted. Brusque, but conversely sensitive. As if she didn't give a damn, but desperately did. They didn't spent much time together, but he counted her a friend, much as she'd deny it. And if she were honest, he knew she considered him one, too.

She retreated back to her book, leaving him to his thoughts. He flopped back against the pillows.

She was right. There was something pleasant about sitting in silence with someone. He tried to remember the last time Galinda had ever been quiet. She filled every moment with some sort of chatter, some sort of activity. It fit her personality to a perky T, but as much as he loved her, it was nice to just be with someone - no pressure, no energy.

He imagined what Galinda would do as his nurse instead. Fuss over him. Fluff his pillows and fawn over how brave he was being. He tried to picture Elphaba doing that, and rasped a laugh.

Elphaba looked up from her book with a raised eyebrow, and Fiyero slammed his eyes shut. He knew he still looked like the kid caught in the cookie jar. But she didn't call him on it.

She saw the time, and stretched. "Time to check on your marble girlfriend. I can trust you not to suffocate while I'm gone, right?"

His eyes widened reflexively in what his mother called his wounded puppy expression.

She shook her head in mock annoyance as if his stupidity had reached painful levels. But he caught the ghost of a smile. "I'm coming back, you idiot. Or she is." He fought a frown, and she rolled her eyes. "Fine, I'll come back. But I'm bringing more soup."

He grinned.

"Oh, sure. You like it now. Where was the trust when you thought it was gross? Color-acist."

He tossed a pillow at her.

"Leave the door unlocked. I won't be that long."

He dozed after she left, a fitful half-sleep that made him feel tired and achy. When she returned, she held another carton of soup and a white paper bag. "Medicine."

He lifted an eyebrow. As far as he knew, Murples had no cure. She opened a jar and shook out two large pills. "Are you discriminatory toward purple as well?"

It was his turn to roll his eyes. He washed the purple pills down without a fuss and opened his mouth as proof. She patted his head.

"Good boy."

He stuck out his tongue, and she snorted a laugh. He reached for the bottle. Muscle relaxers? He furrowed his brow as she took the pills back.

"Brings down the swelling in your throat. It won't help the fever, or the vertigo, but at least you can swallow."

He beamed at her as she went back to her place at his desk, this time with her own book.

After a half-hour, long enough for the medicine to kick in, Elphaba brought him the soup. He tried to sit up, without success. Alarmed, he lifted an arm to watch it flop bonelessly back against the mattress. He turned his wide eyes on Elphaba.

She didn't seem perturbed. Without explanation she propped him up and spooned a mouthful of soup to him. He swallowed, and for the first time in over 36 hours, it brought no pain. He blinked up at her.

She kept her face placid as she held up another spoonful. His hand swiped clumsily at the spoon, but she pulled it out of reach.

With a shrewd look, she emptied it of contents and handed it to him. He clutched the thin silver and hurled it toward the soup. He managed to hang on, but even a half inch from the carton, he knew he'd spill it everywhere. He surrendered.

She spooned another bite of soup, which he swallowed. He felt like an invalid. But Elphaba didn't seem to notice his embarrassment as she fed him, still reading her book with the other hand. When the carton was empty, she helped him lean back.

"Thanks," he rasped, surprised at the sound. His voice came out rusty from disuse, but painless. "I can talk."

"So it seems. I thought I had a bit longer before you figured that out."

She arranged a putout face, but he didn't believe it. "Aw, you missed my talking."

"Hardly. Your best conversations are silence."

It was half-jab and half-truth. Their friendship existed in the moments beyond speaking: a shared look, a smile, an insincere insult. He couldn't recall a single conversation between them that actually expressed in words what they'd meant to say.

"How're you feeling?"

He appraised himself. "Better. Tired."

"Get some sleep."

He fidgeted. "I'm tired of sleep. I'm tired of this room."

Her smile was sympathetic. "Well, as you're in no condition to walk and I'm not about to carry you, I'm afraid you'll have to make do."

"I'm bored," he complained.

"If I'd known you were going to whine, I'd have kept the medicine to myself."

He ignored her dig and rolled onto his side. "Come entertain me." She lifted an eyebrow. With any other girl, he knew how that would have sounded. But Elphaba was different. "Read to me, something."

"So much for the silence," she muttered, eyes back on her book.

He flopped on his back again. "How's Galinda?"

"Less marble. She's down to an ankle. If you'd like, I can see if she can come yet."

"No." His answer was too quick, and she looked up. "I mean, I wouldn't want to bother her."

She looked skeptical, but ignored it. "So you'll bother me, instead?"

"You're very botherable." She huffed. "Can you come closer at least? It's hard to turn my head."

"So don't."

"I want to look at you. You're more interesting than the ceiling."

Her sigh was heavy as she dragged the chair across the thick rug to his bedside. "Happy?"

He grinned at her. "Very." She went back to her book, and he spent a moment watching her read. "Thank you. For everything."

She nodded as if it were a given.

He waited another long moment to ask, "Elphaba?" She glanced up at him in question. "Can I read with you at least? If you don't want to read aloud. I can't hold my own book with anything but my face." He arranged his face in his most persuasive of expressions, praying it would work.

For a long moment, Elphaba tried to decide which poison would be worse. "I suppose. But I'm not waiting for you to finish a page. And I'm not explaining the plot."

He scooted over eagerly, and she took the place on the bed beside him, the book held between them. They read in silence until the muscle relaxants made him drowsy.

His head lolled to her shoulder, and for the briefest of moment, he thought he saw a shadow of smile ghost across her face. But he didn't attempt to process it. The illness made his brain even mushier than normal, and he wanted to relish the feeling of a friend beside him. Someone who cared.

It must have been quite late because when he let his eyes close, he felt her head drift to rest on his. Sick as he was, he somehow never felt better.

* * *

AN: I've been in the mood for oneshots lately (though I am still working on the chapter stories I need to finish). If anyone has a request, please let me know, and I'll do my best.


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